


Except with Cas... I do.

by CC_Sestra



Series: Destiel Dribbles [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 01:16:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15353013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CC_Sestra/pseuds/CC_Sestra
Summary: Cas makes Dean feel loved, and warm, and safe... even if he tries to resist.When I wrote "Decoding Dean Winchester" I got the excellent suggestion to let Dean give us his perspective. It took me a long time to make him do it (the guy does not like to talk about his feelings when asked to!) but I think I finally did. Let me know what you think!As always, sorry for any word-weirdness. English is not my first language.





	Except with Cas... I do.

Look - don’t think I don’t know I treat him like crap sometimes. I do. I’m an asshole and a headcase and a high-functioning alcoholic – but I’m not stupid. Every time I hurt him I hate myself for it… and I know how he feels about that, so then I hate myself for hating myself. I know what that sounds like, okay? Not stupid. Just self-destructive with a compulsion to hurt every single person who’s idiotic enough to like me. 

I actually tried to finish it once because he deserves better than me… but I just couldn’t. I’ve done hell. Been a demon. Kill me and I’ll bounce right back… but take Cas away from me and I turn into a freaking blubbering mess with the hunting skills of a garden gnome. So I begged him to take me back (not in so many words, but Cas knew what I meant). 

Even thinking about that feels surreal. I don’t beg, you know. Never have. Except with Cas… I do. Sometimes out loud and repeatedly. He won’t tell anyone about it which will have to be good enough because I can’t. Fucking. Stop. 

(And maybe I don’t want to – which is even worse. And awesome.)

When I’m thinking of all the bad choices I’ve made – and there are enough of them for generations to come – I wonder how the hell I get to have someone like him in my life. I don’t deserve it, I don’t deserve happiness. I’ve done too much crap and when I’m reminded of that, I kind of lash out at him because that’s what I do when I hurt – tell people to fuck off.

(Okay, that happens a lot. I am, Cas or not, still me.)

Somehow he always knows when I’m about to dive into the pit of self-hatred and why I’m giving him shit for any random thing. It’s like he’s there before I even reach for the whiskey… and soon after that, Team Free Will loses a member. Those incredibly blue eyes are made to get lost in (can’t believe I just said that!) and he seems to know exactly what will make my brain shut down until it knows only one word – Cas. It’s freaking annoying. And awesome. 

In the beginning he tried to talk me out of hating myself and drinking until I passed out, like that could ever work. He doesn’t even try that anymore, or at least not until he has pulverized those walls I built for so many years not even Sam gets to go there. But Sam can’t do what Cas does to me. That stupid angel just whispers “no” in my ear when I tell him to go fuck himself and I know what that means. No, he won’t leave me to hate myself because he loves me, which is a miracle right up there with Jesus walking on water (which Cas told me never actually happened). 

It always starts with him touching me, sending little pulses of warmth and sparks of pleasure through my body. I sometimes argue and try to shake him off but he won’t give up. After a while, he puts the bottle away and he grabs my wrists, and I know he doesn’t use one ounce of angel strength to hold them, but I just can’t fight it. Can’t fight him as he raises them over my head and I’m suddenly backing up against a wall, his breath on my skin and his lips searching for mine, and I can’t say no. At that point, when he kisses me, I should surrender, I really should, because I know what inevitably will happen. But I never give up when I should, so I usually try to break the kiss and tell him to stop. The problem is he knows I will do that, so he keeps my wrists in one hand while the other one finds its way to my naked skin, making me gasp and forget the reasons why I’m supposed to feel miserable. I’m thinking he’s cheating somehow, because one freaking touch has never affected me like that.

(If he is, I don’t mind. I should, but I don’t.)

Don’t think Cas is forcing himself on me. He never would. He’s just found a more effective way of getting my attention than words (I’m not known for wanting to talk about my feelings). It never begins with sex, and he won’t go there until I want him to. Beg him too, if I have to be more honest than I’m comfortable with.

Sometimes he murmurs things in my ear, things I’d never let anyone else get away with, but I can’t resist that stupid deep raspy whiskey voice. I mean, I’m _not_ cute, or pretty, or beautiful, or any of the other things he keeps calling me. He could say hot, or sexy, or whatever – but he goes for cute and pretty – how the fuck am I cute? I kill things for a living. I would stop him if I could, if it didn’t make me so goddamn… happy. I thought I’d forgotten how to be happy but he makes me remember.

When he lets my hands go I’m drawn to him like vampires to blood, unable to resist my hunger for him. I want him naked so I can see every inch of that amazing body of his and I want to make him crave my touch as much as I crave his (and believe me, I know what he likes by now). Most times, I barely remember how he got naked, or how I did, because I leave this fucking suicidal miserable world and go to some place where Cas is all that exists. 

I’ve had a lot of sex in my life. Like a lot a lot. I’ve always loved it (except for maybe once or twice, like that waitress with the weird rashes) and I believed some of it was as good as it gets (like the first times with Lisa). I was wrong. It wasn’t even close. Some might think it’s because I have sex with an angel, but it’s not. There’s nothing supernatural about it, it’s Cas. He could lose his wings and his grace and it wouldn’t matter. The way sex with him makes me writhe and beg and make sounds that make Sam put earplugs in and stare angrily at me over breakfast in the bunker, that’s not angelic. That’s Cas.

(And fyi, angels, except for Cas and maybe Anna if she remembers, must suck at sex because they never do it – and even if they did, they wouldn’t understand it. Serves them right for being pompous dicks.)

There’s one part of me that believes nothing more should happen after we’ve exploded like fireworks. Maybe a little bit of nonsensical pillow talk, but that’s it. Sometimes that is it, but when he’s kidnapped me from my own thoughts, it isn’t. That’s when he uses the bliss that always follows to dig inside of me, pull out my freaking feelings on a parade of things I’d never tell anyone. Some of those things I didn’t even know myself, which is a side effect of pushing things down for so long you start doing it before it even reaches your conscious mind. He pokes and prods and he holds me captive with his warm body and his arms around me, holding my wrists in that hypnotizing way that makes me feel so good I get stupid and my walls come crushing down like he’s a fucking earthquake. 

You’d think I hate that. You’d think that it’d scare me or that I might even feel violated when my inner turmoil is out in the open for him to see. Thing is, I don’t. At all. Somehow it makes me feel warm and safe, and that it’s okay for me to want to be warm and safe. I don’t know how he does it. I never will. All I know is that I can’t fucking breathe without Cas and I can’t stop him from keep blowing the self-loathing I’ve carried around for so many years to hell and make me feel so good I almost cry like a little girl. Which I have never, ever done. Ever. Just so you know.


End file.
